Brothers: 30 Snapshots
by whitereflections12
Summary: 30 glimpses of our boys just being brothers, written for the supernatural 30 snapshots challenge over at lj. Gen, NOT wincest. Will be picked at random and hit different points all through their lives.
1. 05 Regret

First one! Right at freaking 999 words too, haha I _knew_ this snapshot thing was gonna be hard for me!

After the other night, I just had to write this.

05. Regret

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"Hello, Dean."

Dean sat up, took in the sight of the angel that had invaded his dream. "Hey, Cas." It was good to see him, and he almost smiled.

Castiel turned fully to face Dean, his blue eyes piercing. "I'm here about Sam."

_Shit_. "Yeah? What about him?"

"You shouldn't have spoken to him the way you did, Dean. He is far beyond wounded and lost right now, and he _needs_ you, Dean. He needs his older brother."

"That's nice. Maybe he shoulda thought of that when I was trying to help him before." He coughed, looked up and held the angel's gaze. "Anything else?"

Cas' eyes narrowed, cold. "I thought you were a better man than that, Dean."

"Everyone has a breaking point, Cas. Guess I've reached mine."

He shook his head once, reached out to touch two fingers to Dean's forehead. Faster than he could've blinked they were in another hotel room. "Where-"

"Shh." Castiel pushed him forward, hand firm on his shoulder. "I was not allowed to show you before, as it was in their best interests to keep distance between you, to keep him on the path that would lead him to break the final seal. But I can do as I will now, and there are things you need to see, Dean. Things you should've known all along."

Anything else he might've said stopped there, a sound both familiar and foreign effectively slicing through his thoughts. It was a sob, an almost frantic muffled sound and even though he hadn't heard him cry that hard since he was a kid, he'd have known that sound anywhere. His eyes snapped to where Sam sat against the foot of the bed, his head in one hand and Dean's pistol in the other, his shoulder's shaking.

He started forward, only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

"You can't touch him, Dean. Watch."

He would have hardly been able to look away. He saw Sam's thumb smooth across the grip, saw the glint of light off the amulet that hung against his chest. He was intent on Sam, on the way his breath hitched with another sob, the way it almost sounded like his name. He was too focused to notice _her_ show up, and he jerked just like Sam did when she stroked her hand through his hair.

"Sam. C'mon, Sam, we're so close! Look, I'm not good at comforting you, I _know_ that, and I know you hate it when I talk about him but you're doing this for Dean, ok? You can _do_ this, Sam!"

He twitched just a little away from her touch, his eyes dark and pained when he looked up. "It doesn't matter, Ruby. Even if we catch her, what then? It's too late. _I'm_ too late. I should've killed her before but I didn't. I couldn't. And doing it now won't…" His voice broke. "He's gone. And nothing changes that. And I can't…" He swallowed hard, shook his head once. "I just can't. It's too much."

She bit her lip, looked hesitant. "Sam, there's a way for you to be stronger, alright? I just haven't told you because I didn't think you'd have the stomach for it. It's not exactly something you'd usually accept."

"Ruby, stop-"

"You could bring him back."

_That_ got his attention. "Cut the bullshit."

"It's not bullshit, Sam. If you do this, if you work, if you get strong enough…I think you could bring him back. You can be stronger than us; I _know_ you can do this." Before he could think better of it she pulled her arm up, sliced it open before his eyes. Sam pulled back from her just a little, horror and revulsion stirring in his eyes. She sighed, rolled her eyes. "Do want him or not?"

He looked away. "I do this…you swear to me I can bring Dean back?"

"_Yes_."

"Sammy, _don't_." His own voice cut the silence, rough and thick with the pain clenching at his chest.

Sam shuddered once, lowered his head to meet the gash on her arm. He almost gagged on the taste at first, Dean could tell, but he dropped the pistol, grabbed her arm in both hands and forced himself to drink deeply.

Over his shoulder, Ruby grinned.

"_Sam_!" He felt Castiel's hand on his back for a moment, warm and solid, and then he was jolting awake in a different hotel room, panting, a cold sweat cementing his shirt to his chest.

He flailed for the light, got it on the first try. He licked his lips, his chest still heaving. He could taste salt, and it didn't surprise him. Not after what he'd just seen. "Sammy?" His voice shook on the word, and he took a deep breath to settle himself back into the present. The bitch was dead. He'd killed her with his own hands. _They'd_ killed her.

"Dean?" He sounded so small, and Dean's heart ached at the sound. He swung his legs over the bed, rubbed a hand hard over his face before looking up to meet his little brother's eyes.

"I…" He stopped, really _looked_. Cas had been right about everything. Sam was looking at him now like he was 5 all over again, and Dean was about to tell him the secrets of the universe. He sighed, ran a hand through his hair. "Jesus, Sam…I didn't know."

"Didn't know what?" Sam sat up on the edge of his bed, faced him. "What's wrong?"

Dean shook his head, stood up and wasn't surprised when Sam mirrored his movements. He pulled him into a fierce hug, felt whatever soul he had left crack at the way Sam held onto him tight enough to bruise.

He buried his face against Dean's shoulder, and he could feel his breath shaky, unsure. "Dean?"

He tightened his grip, let out a heavy breath it felt like he'd been holding for a year. "It's ok, Sammy. We're gonna be ok."

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It's more rushed than I would've liked, and it was so hard to cut it off there. I may end up semi continuing this scene in another snapshot…


	2. 09 Claim

997 words! Man, I'm cutting these close, lol

09. Claim

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"I'm dreaming."

The red haired man at the foot of the bed smiled, leaned back against the wall. "Yes, Dean. You are dreaming."

Dean nodded, slid out of bed to face the intruder on his feet. "Alright. And who are you? Angel? Demon? You know at this point, I really don't give a shit. " He stepped closer, ignored the small laugh that slipped from the other man's lips. "What do you want?"

"I'm Michael."

He tensed, backed up on instinct.

"Relax, please. I have no intentions of taking you by force."

"God, doesn't _that_ sound wrong."

"Very good." He smirked, leaned back against the dresser with his hands splayed across the old wood. "Trust me, even if I could force you, I wouldn't want to. The very idea is repulsive, I assure you. Whatever Zachariah may have done to you, he did not have my consent. I have never coerced a vessel by cruel means, nor do I intend to start now."

Still, Dean backed away. "So, what, you think you can get in my head, try to make friends and change my mind? Sorry, pal, but I have no intentions of being anyone's fucking clothes. This is _my_ body and I'm keepin' it."

"I wouldn't hurt you, Dean."

"Jimmy -"

"Castiel has taken only one vessel before now, did you know? He isn't too familiar with how it works, how to best care for his host. He is learning, however." Micheal's grey eyes softened, seemed something far too close to kind. He gestured at himself, the form he had. "This man gave me his permission, and when I took his form in 1965 I lived with him for two years before leaving him, and he returned to his family without consequence."

"Without consequence? They didn't wonder where the hell he'd been for two years?"

Michael shrugged. "He sorted it out. But just think, Dean, how much easier it would be on you. _Your_ family already understands."

"I already told Zach my answer to this question." Dean held his head up, firm. "_No_."

"And as I said, he was wrong to approach you that way. I would've come on my own, in time. I've never liked Zachariah or his methods. On the other hand," He smiled, warm. "Castiel and I have been friends for generations."

Dean's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "And what does he think about all this, huh?"

"He would rather I didn't take you, but his reasons are…" His eyes flicked to Dean's right shoulder, seemed to bore through the cotton of his t-shirt. "Anchored in emotion and possession rather than reason. He knows I will not harm you. And that for the sake of his feelings toward you I will be even more careful to return you to him and the rest of your family undamaged."

_Undamaged_. God, it made him sound like furniture. He licked his lips, shook his head. "No. Hell no."

Michael sighed, spread his hands. "Dean, you leave me no choice."

"What happened to 'I won't take you by force', huh?"

"I won't. But I didn't want to bring this up." He stepped forward, his eyes darkening just enough to be noticeable. "You are not the only one of your bloodline, Dean. I have received another offer. And if you don't allow me, he is willing."

Automatically his eyes flicked to the bed, to the spot where Sam should've been.

"That's right. The little brother you have sleeping beside you now, the one you've tried so hard to protect, he _will_ let me take him, Dean. He has told me as much. I walked his dreams tonight also."

"You son of a _bitch_, you had no-"

"I had every right, Dean. You have given every indication of being unapproachable."

He could feel his heartrate rising, desperate. "He has demon blood." And he had never been happy for that fact, until that moment.

"He's learning to control it, more and more every day. And my presence will overpower it."

They had stalked closer during the last exchange, and he was close enough now to feel heat from the archangel's body, feel the power radiating off his frame. "You're a real bastard, you know that? He's been through enough."

"I give you my word, Dean, I will take care of him."

"You won't lay a goddamn finger on him."

He stepped closer, caught Dean's chin in his hand. "Is that your choice, then? Will _you_ permit me?"

He looked away, clenched his jaw. "I can tell you one thing, Mike. This counts as cruel means."

"That's unfair."

"I don't think so." He took a deep breath, met Michael's eyes. "Tell Cas I think you're a dick, will you?"

Michael's lips quirked up, slightly. "I assure you, Castiel will express his disapproval without your help."

Dean jerked away from his touch, held his gaze. "Give me a minute with Sam."

As soon as he said it he was awake, eyes snapping open to take in Bobby's guest room and moonlight and Sam, fast asleep and turned toward Dean in the bed they'd had to share. His hand hovered over Sam's shoulder, deciding. He almost let him sleep, but in the end he knew that if it had been him, he'd have wanted the chance to say something first. Just in case it was goodbye.

He shook him awake, gentle.

"Mmm? Dean?"

"Hey, Sammy."

"Too early. Go back to-"

"Sam." He came fully awake then, sitting up beside him. "Just had a talk with Michael."

His eyes flashed wide with something like panic, one hand coming up to grip Dean's shoulder. "Dean, no, I told him I'd-"

"Yeah, I know you did. And I know you would. But you're not."

"Dean, no, please, let me-"

"Shut up, Sam. This is how it's gonna be."

He gripped his shoulder hard, painful. "Why?"

"Cause I'm your big brother, that's why." He looked up, spoke before Sam could cut him off. "Mike? I'm ready."

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	3. 13 Crave

I needed to write the next chapter of To Reign In Hell tonight, but I knew that wasn't happening considering my state of mind toward Dean.

I sat down to write happy Sam & Dean, but I was just…I don't know, too fucking furious at Dean and really feeling Sam's pain so that's what came out…Sam's pain. *hugs him* Love you, Sammy.

Title comes from a Savage Garden song called The Lover After Me, and while I totally don't mean any of this in the Wincest sense, that one line just popped into my head and really struck me as being perfect for how he'd been feeling, so I had to use it.

13. Crave

Title: So This Is Freedom? Funny, I Don't Remember Being Chained

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He really had thought he'd put up more of a fight.

Sure, he'd gone into the conversation expecting it to hurt. There was no other way it could go, really. Still, this was _Dean_, and he'd thought that surely to God he couldn't hate him that much over this.

Except that maybe…maybe he did. Sam sighed, hunched down in the motel bed and let his head fall back against the headboard. He hadn't even bothered to turn the lights on, hadn't even bothered to take off his boots. This place really was a dump, and he was pretty sure if he listened hard enough he'd be able to hear the roaches scuttling on the floor. It was good. The level of semi decay just above a dump that they usually tried to find, that would have just reminded him of Dean.

Of course, it didn't matter. Everything reminded him of Dean.

He squeezed his eyes shut, didn't even try to stop the tears that had been threatening to fall since they'd sat down at that picnic table to talk.

_I think it's best we go our separate ways._

_I think you're right_.

It was ironic, really. In a disturbingly poetic way, he deserved it. He'd gone to Stanford and left Dean behind when Dean hadn't wanted him to go. Hell, he'd kept the threat of him leaving hanging over Dean's head for a long time even after he came back. In a way, he really did deserve it. A taste of what it felt like, being Dean. He'd said once that what he wanted was for Sam not to go, and even if he hadn't told Dean, the words had meant something. But that was before Hell, before Ruby. Before he'd gone and screwed everything up.

Maybe it had taken him losing Dad to realize how much he _couldn't_ lose Dean, but he _had_ realized it. He'd realized it, and he'd assumed that after that, nothing could tear them apart. Of course then there was death and hell and a whole host of events that swirled now into one godawful mess that seemed to end with Dean deciding that after all this shit, maybe he didn't need family after all.

He'd realized that he wanted to stay with Dean, before, but he hadn't realized just how much he downright _needed_ him until Ruby had stood over that hole of light in the cathedral floor and told him just what he'd done. Saying the regret was 'crushing' didn't really suffice. He'd needed his brother then, needed Dean to help him pick himself up and start going in the right direction again.

Hell, this afternoon, that had practically been what he asked for. He had hoped, naively apparently, that Dean would tell him that whatever he needed to straighten out, they'd fix it.

_Don't be stupid, Sammy, we stick together. We'll just work this thing out, ok? Nobody's goin' anywhere._

When he'd rehearsed the speech in his head, that's what Dean had said.

He choked back a sob, curled a little more against the headboard and pressed his sleeve against his mouth to keep the sound in. He couldn't let himself _really_ cry. He hadn't, not since Dean had been dead, and if he did now, he'd break, and before he knew it he'd be crying for everything in between.

He screwed his eyes shut even tighter, tried to think about blank walls or the Horsemen or nothing or even the fucking _blood_, just so long as he wasn't thinking about Dean. It didn't work, of course, and he felt his chest clench tight as he remembered, the memory forcing its way brutally to the front.

He was 13, and they'd just finished one of the worst hunts he'd ever been on. A particularly sadistic ring of witches, controlling people and making them eat their family members to complete some sort of ancient ritual. They'd stopped them before they reached whatever their goal was, of course, but the horror of that one had struck him, stayed with him even when he tried to shake it.

At the time he'd thought he was too old to be having nightmares, and _definitely_ too old to need his brother around to deal with them, but some part of him, the part that wasn't all awkward 13 year old stupidity…that part had been glad. He could remember waking up, shaking, cold sweat leaving him clammy and Dean's soft voice in the dark. His hand been steady on his shoulder, and when he felt Sam shake he'd pulled him against his chest, held him there until he fell asleep and he'd been good enough to never breath a damn word of it the next day or any time sense.

At the time, he'd known he was afraid before hand, known he wanted Dean there to stay with him until he wasn't lost anymore but he'd never been able to ask. Back then, he hadn't had to. At the time, he hadn't known how lucky he was. He'd have given anything to have Dean there now, to have him put an arm around his shoulders and let him fall apart over all his fucking mistakes and in the morning they could both get up and put it behind them and get started stopping the Apocalypse.

It was funny, really, how over the course of a life the things you wanted out of it changed. A couple years ago, he'd have said all he wanted out of life was a degree, a job, and a house. Dean, he'd just wanted Sam. Fastforward to now and God only knew what Dean wanted but Sam…

He just wanted Dean. He wanted him there, every stupid thing about him, every song played too loud and every stupid attempt to get Sam laid and the way he cleaned his guns like a nervous tick and his sometimes infuriating overprotectiveness. That, most of all.

For years, he'd wanted to break free, stop being 'Sammy', the sheltered little brother. He'd never realized just how true it was that you had to be fucking careful what you wished for.

For the first time, he was really and truly on his own.

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	4. 02 Tell

02. Tell

Though I've had some a couple memories in stuff I've written, this is my first actual teen!chesters story. :D Inspired by, among other things, Sam's quote in Fresh Blood about having studied Dean and tried to be him all his life. Cause for me, that's one of the cutest/best Sammy quotes ever. ::hugs him::

Title: Everything You Shouldn't Do

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"C'mon, Sam, I mean really, what the hell were you thinkin'?"

Sam slouched down just a little in the seat, turned to look out the window into the dark. "And you've _never_ gone anywhere you weren't supposed to, right, Dean?"

"That's not the point, Sam! If you're gonna try to get around Dad's rules you do it smart, ok? And this, pulling this while when he's supposed to be getting back from that hunt tonight? That's about as far from smart as you can get, man. I mean, we can haul ass back but what if he and Caleb still beat us there, huh? He's gonna tear me apart."

He did feel a little stab of guilt at that, and he pushed up in the seat a little, glanced briefly out the windshield but still didn't actually look over at Dean. "Didn't want to get you in trouble."

"Well, then you shoulda known better." He sighed, softened. "Hell, Sammy, I _know_ you know better, never had more than handful of problems out of you my whole life, so you wanna tell me what the hell brought this on? Cause if it's the alcohol you were wanting, you know I can get you that. Safer if you drink with me anyway."

He shifted, tried not to look as uneasy as he felt now that this topic had actually come up. "Wasn't the alcohol." That was definitely true, at least. He'd had no interest in the massive amounts of alcohol at the party. He'd had his first beer with Dean the year before when he was 14, and he honestly had never felt the desire to drink with anyone else. Especially not at a place like that.

Dean hesitated, and Sam glanced over to watch him rub the steering wheel with one hand while he thought. "Didn't have anything else there did they? Cause I mean, I totally understand being curious but some of that shit is-"

"I'm not doing drugs, Dean." He snapped it just a little more violently than he meant to, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Dean hold one hand up, conceding.

"Hey, I didn't say you were, I was just askin'." Honestly, Sam could almost understand why he asked. By the time Dean had gotten to the farmhouse the party had been pretty crazy. He was pissed off anyway from having been looking for Sam everywhere, and to have found him at a place like that…yeah, it made a little sense that he'd be upset. Dean sighed, took the car just a little fast through a turn. "Then what, Sam? You gotta talk to me, dude, cause if you're this pissed off at me for dragging you back, I interrupted something. Unless I just embarrassed you in front of your 'friends' or something."

There was an edge to his last words and Sam felt another twinge of guilt, looked over at Dean until his brother glanced over to meet his eyes for a second. "That _wasn't_ it." Yeah, it was a little infuriating to be yanked off home by your big brother, but even so, he didn't want Dean thinking he was embarrassed of him. Maybe annoyed sometimes when he acted like a damn mother hen, but never embarrassed. He stared out into the dark, felt his cheeks flare just a little red at the thought of actually bringing this up. "It was Amy. That's why I was there."

"Amy…blonde chick? The one you told me that girl said had the hots for you?"

"Yeah."

Dean sighed, glanced over at Sam. "Look, Sammy, I know it's rough on you all this moving around, but you know how the job goes. We're gone by tomorrow, man, don't you think it's better not to put any roots down, huh?"

Still, Dean didn't get it. He hadn't exactly wanted to have to spell it out for him. "Wasn't trying to. I just…it was just gonna be tonight." And that, that had to be clear enough.

Apparently, it was. Dean swerved off the road almost immediately, coming to a stop on the gravel shoulder and turning in the seat to face Sam. "You were gonna have sex with her? Tonight?"

He felt pinned down by Dean's stare, wished to God he _hadn't_ stopped the car. If he knew anything about his brother, he knew that stopping the car always meant a serious discussion. Dean didn't have many of those, but when he did it meant it was majorly important to him. "Look, Dean, it's not a big deal alright? Just…just forget it."

"Not a big deal? Sammy, come on! That's…no, that's a huge deal, ok? You don't…you don't want someone like that being your first." Whatever Sam had expected him to say, it wasn't that.

He laughed, short and sharp. "Dean, _please_. Like yours was a big deal? You told me, remember? I was 10 and you were 14 and you screwed some girl in the back of a gas station, so don't try to tell me this is supposed to be important."

"That's different, Sam. You…" He looked away, ran his fingers through his hair. "Look, just because I do something doesn't make it right, ok? I'm not sayin' you gotta wait forever or anything, you're definitely old enough, just…it should be somebody that actually means something to you, you know? Cause you're gonna remember that first one, and you want it to be a good memory. Mine…" He shook his head, gave Sam a half smirk. "I mean it was good, you know, I'm not sayin' it wasn't but it wasn't anything spectacular. Just…" He took a deep breath, shifted back toward the wheel and took it in one hand as he turned the ignition. "You don't wanna be me, ok? You don't." He studied his brother, saw the hurt that was there in his eyes for only a second before he shielded it, grinning. "Right. Gotta beat them back. Metallica?" He turned the dial without waiting for the answer, gunned the Impala back onto the road.

The sounds of Master of Puppets filled the car and Dean sang along, rolling the window down to lean his arm against the frame. Sam gave him a brief smile, leaned back in the seat and sank into his own thoughts.

_But what if I __**do**__, Dean? What if I do wanna be like you?_

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	5. 19 Bind

Some more teen!chesters! I had fun with them the other day, and I had the idea for this this morning and couldn't resist. :D Since there was no place to say it conveniently in the story, having in mind that Dean is 16 and Sam's 12.

19. Bind

Title: Stitches

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Half asleep, he could hear the rumbling of the Impala pulling up outside the motel. He nestled a little closer into his pillow, still drifting. The sound of the front door closing didn't really wake him, and the sound of the bathroom door shutting didn't do too much either.

It was the muffled curse after that that got his attention, softer but much more capable of cutting through his sleepy haze. He sat up quick, threw the covers back and went to the bathroom door, his hand wrapping around the cold doorknob. "Dean?"

There was a clatter, a soft whisper of '_shit_' and a couple of ragged breaths before Dean answered him. "Yeah, it's me. Go back to sleep, Sam."

He was breathing heavy, and Sam could hear something else fall to the tile. He pressed closer to the door, listening. "Are you ok?"

Sam heard something smaller drop, heard Dean hiss and swear under his breath again. " 'm fine, Sammy, ok? Listen to me, you stay out there and you go back to bed ok?"

Even if he wasn't worried already, _that_ definitely wouldn't have reassured him. He left the door, yanked his bag up off the floor and fished a paperclip out of the front pocket. He was on his knees at the door as soon as he could reach it, biting his lip as he focused on picking the lock.

"Dammit, Sammy, cut it out ok? I told you, stay out there! Everything's fine, just-"

It was an easy lock to pick and Sam had it done within seconds, pushed the door open to see inside. His eyes widened at the sight, his nails digging hard into thin wood of the door. "_Dean_…"

Dean had already pulled his shirt off and it lay torn and bloody on the floor. Honestly, it looked much better than he did. There was a deep bloody slice across his ribs on his left side, muscle visible through the gash. His brother was deathly pale, one bloody hand gripping onto the sink beside an open bottle of rubbing alcohol. He took a deep breath, reached his other hand out to squeeze hard at Sam's shoulder, steadying.

"Hey, hey look at me, Sam, ok? It's not bad, alright? It's not that bad, it just looks nastier than it is, ok? I'm fine." He definitely didn't sound _fine_, and Sam stepped in, yanked a washcloth off the towel rod and turned on the sink, dousing it under cold water. His hands shook against the faucet and Dean turned it off, gently took the cloth from him. "Thanks, Sammy. Now come on, go back to bed and let me-"

"No way in _hell_, Dean!" He stared him down, furious that he'd even suggest it. "I can handle this! Stop treating me like a kid and let me _help_ you!"

Dean licked his lips, winced as his next breath pulled on the cut. He nodded, once. "Alright. Alright you can give me a hand ok? But you don't have to do this, Sam, I've got it."

Sam slid in as close as Dean would let him, took another washcloth and poured some alcohol on it before pressing it to the wound. A strangled sound slipped from his older brother's throat, his hand pounding hard once on the counter. Sam edged just a little closer, ducked his head. "Sorry, Dean."

He laughed once, weak, shook his head. "Nah, you're doin' good."

He pulled the cloth away, skimmed his fingers against the edge of the wound. "This…it's not good, Dean, maybe we should-"

"No, no doctor's, you know that, Sam."

"Dad says we make exceptions if it's bad."

"Well this isn't bad, ok? Just…" Dean sighed, leaned heavy against the counter as he rubbed at the corner of his eye. "Look, it needs stitches, I know, so just wrap it up enough to hold for now so I can get back out there and help dad finish the job. He can stitch me up tonight."

Sam shook his head, met Dean's eyes in the bathroom mirror. "No. I do that, it'll just keep opening up again every time you move." He looked down, rummaged in the first aid kit Dean had open on the counter. "I can do it."

"Sammy, you've never stitched a thing in your life, man." Dean almost smirked, stopped when Sam looked up enough for Dean to catch his expression. "Seriously? Ok." He took a deep breath, turned around to slam the toilet seat down so he could sit on it. "Ok."

Sam had found the needle and sutures but he hesitated, looked over at Dean out of the corner of his eye. "If you don't want-"

"Hey, I trust you, you know that. I'm just sayin', you've never done it before, that's all."

Sam nodded, gathered everything in his hands and came over to sit on the edge of the tub. "Yeah. And believe me, I wouldn't want to try now but I don't…I'm afraid it'll get worse if I don't, and it'll get infected and you'll get sick like you did in Houston that time."

Dean gave a slight mock shudder, his breath hitching at the pain. "God, Houston. Alright, good points. Go ahead."

Sam took a deep breath, brought one hand to press against the wound and hold it shut, lined the other up with the needle against the skin. He waited, held his breath and held the needle there before he pulled back, readjusted his grip. "I've watched you and dad do it about a hundred times though, you know, but…"

"Just start slow, Sammy. Go in at an angle, no sudden movements, just keep it steady ok? You got this." Even though he couldn't see his face he could hear Dean's smile in his voice. It helped. His nerves eased and he nodded once more, felt the tension in his hands relax just a little as he brought the needle back up and pushed it through his skin.

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	6. 25 Converge

I've been stuck on that last chapter of Man's Best Friend for awhile, so it's exciting to be writing some Sam and Dean again. :)

This is for one my best friends who's over in Wales(way too far away). She wanted to see some of John training the boys, so here goes…I've actually never really written John(except for like five seconds in To Reign In Hell, and that doesn't really count cause he was in Heaven and all happy), so this is a first for me…

17. Show

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"Dad, no, come on, he's just a kid still, ok? He's-"

"So were you!" John Winchester took a deep breath, lowered the gun he was cleaning onto the desk and lowered his voice just a little. "Listen, I know you're worried about him, he's your brother. You look out for him, and you _should_, hell, I can't you enough how important that is. _But_-" He held up a hand, kept Dean from cutting him off. "This work is dangerous, and Sammy can't always be expecting you to come running in and save him. You two work pretty well as a team, but it's past time you worked well alone, too." His attention flicked back to the gun, lifting it into his hands again. "He'll be fine. I know right where he is, and we're totally alone out here. You think I woulda let him go if I hadn't checked the area?"

Dean shoved his chair back, paced by the door. Whether the area had been checked or not, the idea of his 13 year old brother out there alone was driving him crazy. Sure, Dean had been doing _more_ at his age but that was different.

"Look, I get it, we need to work separate, but I can! You know I can! And Sammy, he-"

"The more time you waste arguing with me, the more daylight you lose on your own case."

They'd had lots of different 'practice' maneuvers over the years, and this was John's recent favorite. Take them out somewhere secluded, give the boys instructions and make them go through the motions of working a fake case, down to pretending to realistically kill their monster. It was a way of giving them almost on the job training without the danger, and he checked in every now and then from a distance, treated each fake case as a life or death situation. Meaning there was hell to pay when they screwed up.

Really, Dean was _supposed_ to leave an hour ago, but he didn't like this idea of being separated and he just couldn't let it go. Frustrated, he stopped at the desk, hands tightening over the back of a cheap motel chair. "_Dad_, he-"

"Get going." He'd been somewhat tolerant up until now, but that tone brooked no argument.

Dean sighed, his head hanging just a little. "Yes sir." Without a look back, he swung his bag over his shoulder and headed out the door.

* * *

It was dark by the time he found Sam's camp and he eased up almost quiet, careful to break a couple sticks just before he got there to make sure Sam knew someone was coming. The kid was nervous, twitchy, and he leapt to his feet, gun in hand.

"Whoa, Sammy!" He held his hand up, stepped forward and into the firelight. He could literally see Sam's shoulders sag a little with relief, and his anger at his dad ratcheted up just a little bit higher. He smirked, kicked one of the rocks Sam had hauled over into a little better position before sitting down on it, close to the fire. "Gettin' pretty good there, quick draw."

Sam's lips curved up just a little, a smile almost catching before he shot Dean a look that he could tell was meant to portray self sufficiency but came off just looking pissy instead. "What are you doing here?"

Dean shrugged. "The hell does it look like I'm doin' here?" Sam had a sandwich cut in halves in his lap and Dean zeroed in on it, stretched one hand out, fingers beckoning. "Gimme. Friggin' long hike up here, man, I'm starved."

Sam shot him another look, didn't touch the sandwich. "He told us we were doin' this one alone, Dean."

"Heard it the first time, thanks." He stretched his hand out a little farther. "_Sammy_. Food? Please?"

He sighed, picked up half but didn't hand it over quite yet. "Dad's gonna be pissed when he finds out you-"

"You let me worry about dad." He leaned across, pulled the half sandwich out of Sam's hand and shoved as much of it as he could into his mouth in one bite. _God_ it was good. He hadn't eaten since breakfast.

He looked to see Sam shaking his head, almost smiling. "You'd have had dinner if you wouldn't've eaten what dad gave you already."

He hesitated, licked his lips and took another bite, forced the twinge he couldn't help to the back of his mind. "Psh, I had better stuff to pack than sandwiches. You'll see." Truth was, he hadn't had a choice. Dad had never packed food for him, not on trips like this. He'd always told Dean he needed to be man enough to think of it himself, and if he didn't, he could just go hungry to remind him not to forget next time.

"Oh really? I'm supposed to believe _you_ didn't want-"

To shut him up, he shoved his hand down in his bag, felt around till he felt plastic and chucked the bag of gummy bears at him across the fire. "Here. Go ahead." Dean shoved the last bite into his mouth, dusted his fingers off on his jeans. "So…what're we lookin' at?"

"Dean, I'm not sure this is-"

Exasperated, he leaned forward, his voice rising. "Just stop it, ok? It doesn't matter what he told us, it was shit, alright? And we can _prove_ that. We work both of these, we get 'em done faster together, and he won't have much to complain about." Well, that was a lie. Mostly. He'd complain _less_ but that didn't mean they wouldn't be in deep shit. _He_ at least would be in deep shit, even if Sam wasn't.

Sam leaned back against the log behind him, rested one arm against his knee and bit off the head of a gummy bear, smiling a little proudly. "You can look the stuff over, but I'm pretty sure it's a witch, working lost hikers."

Dean nodded, already planning. "Meaning we need wrought iron."

"_Consecrated_ wrought iron."

"You really are the world's biggest nerd, you know that?" He was looking into the fire as he said it, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Sammy grin.

"And you're a jerk."

"Bitch." Sam laughed, and Dean let himself smile. Yeah, hell to pay or not…this was how it was supposed to be.

* * *

*sigh* So…there was meant to be more John in this. But then it turned into _this_. I think writing big brother-ly!Dean is my favorite thing in the whole world, and that comes out a lot even when I start off writing something else, haha

Anyway, I really like this one. ^^ Hope everyone enjoyed it!

And maybe I have Dean wrong here in that he's not following John blindly…but for this particular case, this feels Dean-ish to me…so I hope the only one that thinks so.


	7. 17 Show

And now for some fluff. :D

17. Show

* * *

"Hey, buddy, it's me."

Dean blinked slowly, everything fuzzy in the dark. His dad's voice was soft and low, one hand rubbing gently over his back. He was still warm and sleepy, and for a minute he couldn't remember why he'd be getting up this early. "Dad?"

John knelt down by the bed, his face close enough now that Dean could make it out even in the low light. He smiled, reached up to ruffle his hair. "I know you're tired, but you made me promise I'd wake you up when he got here."

_That_ had him awake. After _months_ of being told he was gonna get to be a big brother, it was finally happening. He'd been picked up at daycare the day before by their neighbor, Mrs. Finnigan, and he'd hardly been able to sit still for five minutes even to eat the dinner she'd cooked for him. He'd told her that his name was Sam already, and after that he'd told her everything dad had told _him_, about how important it was to be the big brother and how much he was gonna have to teach Sammy, how he'd have to look out for him. Dad had called a couple of times and told him it wasn't gonna be much longer, and it was then Dean had made him promise that he'd come get him the minute Sam got home, no matter how tired he was.

He pushed the covers back, reaching out for his dad's shoulder to hold on when he picked him up. "What's he like, dad? Is he-"

His voice was rising, excited, and John chuckled, shushed him with a finger over his lips. "Your mom's sleepin', Dean, we gotta let her rest a little bit ok? She's fine, don't worry, but she fed Sammy and she's gone to lay down for a little bit. And he's doin' just fine. Great, actually. Looks a lot like your mom." The nursery was just down the hall and John sat him down in the doorway, a hand on his shoulder nudging him toward the crib. "Go on and see him."

He ran forward, only stopping when he got right up to the bars. His fingers wrapped tight around them, and he looked over the blankets pressed up against the side to see Sam in the middle. A few of the mothers at his daycare had come in with babies lots of times before so he'd thought he knew what to expect, but he hadn't been ready for how _tiny_ he was. He turned his head sleepily, whining a little, and Dean pressed closer.

"Hey, Sammy. It's ok." He whispered, still a little in awe that he was actually a _brother_ now.

John squeezed his shoulder, reached over the bars to lift Sam up, carefully. "C'mere, little guy, let's let Dean get a better look at ya, huh?" Sam whined again at first, but he went quiet when John cradled him close to his chest, bending to kiss his forehead. "Shh. You're ok, Sammy." He looked down at Dean then, smiling, and Dean grinned back at him. "Little, isn't he?"

Dean nodded, excited. "Uh-huh. Can I see him, dad? Please?"

John nodded, motioned over toward the chair in the corner. "Let's go over here." He sat down first, maneuvering so Dean could step right up to the chair, between his knees. "You gotta hold him tight now, ok? And make sure you keep your hand under his head like this, cause he can't hold it up on his own yet."

"I'll be really careful with him, promise." He held his arms out to take him the same way John was holding him. Sam looked so _fragile_, and if he hadn't been looking forward to this for so long he probably would have been a little more afraid that he might drop him or something. He still _was_ a little afraid of that, honestly, and when John eased Sam over into his arms he held on for dear life, pulling him in close.

Sam wiggled, confined, crying a little and John's fingers curled around his arm, tugging his grip to loosen. "Not quite so tight; just let him lay there."

That was better, definitely. He quieted down, one hand waving up to bump lightly against Dean's chest. He smiled down at him, his heart racing. "Hey, Sammy. I'm Dean. I'm your brother." Sam squirmed a little, blinking up at him. His eyes were just barely open, but he could see a hint of his own green there and he looked up at his dad, grinning. "He's got green eyes, too!"

John nodded, reaching out to smooth Sam's hair. "A little green in there. But, they were mostly brown last night, and the nurse said they're probably gonna get darker. He's definitely ours though, I checked."

Dean laughed at that, holding Sam just a little closer again. "Dad!"

John sat back in the chair, patting his leg for Dean to come up. "Here. We can both hold him for awhile, how's that? Think he'll be ok for a little longer before he starts cryin' for his mom again." He handed Sam over while he climbed up into his dad's lap, impatient to take him back once he was settled. John lay Sam down in Dean's lap and Dean curved his arm around him, holding him secure and laying his head against his dad's shoulder, watching.

John kissed the top of his head, rubbed his arm gently. "It's a lot of work being a big brother, you know. He's gonna look up to you, and you're gonna have to look out for him, keep him safe. Think you can do that, Dean?"

Sam waved his arm again and Dean reached out, carefully catching his tiny, fragile hand. He'd been looking forward to this ever since they'd told him, and he'd been sure he was ready, sure he was old enough to take care of his baby brother. He hadn't understood until now, though, _exactly_ how that was going to feel. He loved him already, but he'd known he would because he was family. This, though…this was different. He had someone to look after now, someone that was _his_, and that felt entirely new.

He nodded, kept his eyes on the way Sam's fingers curled around one of his. "I can take care of him, dad. Promise."

* * *

Yeah, the adorable-ness of tiny Dean holding tiny Sam definitely up for all the depressing Dean/Cas I've been writing lately, haha 3 I love these two so much.


	8. 22 Capitulate

Double checking Dean's birthday for this one I found out that Jess has the same birthday. _Weird_. Now Kripke said it means nothing other than that it's his wife's birthday(sweet of him), still, if I was a Sam/Dean shipper I'd take that and run with it, haha

Anyway, here goes. Slightly depressing to fit my mood, and it's a way to segway me back into writing cause I've been quiet for like two weeks. Weird, for me.

Also, there's so much discrepancy about how long Sam was at Stanford/with Jess. I went with the school of thought that says he was starting his senior year when Season 1 started, and that he'd been with Jess a year and a half, like he says. So, I'm setting this in Janurary of his junior year, which means(if we go by his "haven't seen you in two years" thing)that he hasn't seen Dean since sometime in the early fall of his sophomore year. Confusingness, lol

22. Capitulate

* * *

He'd waited until Jess was asleep, and even now he wasn't sure what he was going to say.

He'd had all day to figure it out, and if he was honest with himself, it really _had_ been running through his head almost every minute, even when it shouldn't have been, like when they'd been out for her birthday dinner. Every time he'd only get so far in what he planned to say before his thoughts would come up short, forcibly halted by the realization that he likely wouldn't even get that far. Considering how well their last phone conversation _hadn't_ gone, Dean probably wouldn't even answer his phone.

He turned his Treo over in his hand slowly, thinking. If this was before, and Dean could see him, he would be laughing.

_What, your fancy new phone too difficult for you? C'mon, Sammy, just make the damn call already. Jesus, I'm gettin' old over here! _

He let out a soft laugh himself at the thought, lips curling up even as his chest tightened. Yeah, that would've been Dean, alright, and it hurt remembering. He'd have been teasing him mercilessly -- warm, real laughter that Sam hadn't heard in far too long. It was going on three years he'd been gone now, over a year since he'd seen Dean at all, and he was missing his brother's presence so much it hurt. Still, Heaven forbid he ask Dean to _visit_ him. Last time they'd talked, he'd almost asked, but it had turned pretty quickly into a fight about Sam abandoning everyone who cared about him. After that had come up, he'd been sure it would be a lost cause.

He tapped the corner of his phone on the desk, dropped it to push out of his chair and pace the floor a couple times, gathering his nerve. He didn't _have_ to do it, obviously. It wasn't like they were talking regularly, and really, what was he, a glutton for punishment? Dean just couldn't understand how he could possibly want school _and_ a relationship with his brother. For Dean, they were mutually exclusive, and if Sam could've just understood that and let it go, they probably wouldn't have had the last few fights they'd had.

Still, he wanted it too much to let it go. At least not yet. Before he could change his mind he snatched the phone off his desk and dialed, rapid and with hardly a thought. He could've punched the numbers in in his sleep, even though Dean had only had this number for about a year. Ever since they'd had cell phones, he'd always memorized Dean's new number within five minutes of being told.

He was so caught up waiting for the one ring and the 'What do you want, Sam?' that he was for a second shocked speechless when it went straight to voicemail.

_Hey, you've reached Dean Winchester, leave me a message if you want me to get back to you. If there's a real reason you're calling and it's urgent, call my dad, John. _

The machine beeped, and he licked his lips and started talking before he could over think what he was going to say.

"Hey, Dean. Guess you've got your phone off, huh?" He cleared his throat, kicked back against the desk and ducked his head, letting out a short laugh. "Obviously. Anyway, I know you probably didn't expect to hear from me, but…actually, you probably did. What I meant was you probably didn't _want_ to hear from me but, just in case I'm wrong, I wanted to give you a call." Sam took a deep breath, hand clenching on the desk. "So, ah…happy birthday, bro. Just wanted to call and tell you you're gettin' old, see how you're doing…anyway, I miss you, Dean." It slipped out, and though he took a breath to steady himself afterwards, he wasn't sorry he'd said it. "I, ah, I've got a girlfriend, and she's great, but what I'm sayin' is we've got this house near campus, and we don't have any roommates, and it'd be great for if you wanted to come visit. You know, stay for awhile or something. Anyway, call me if you get a chance. Hope everything's ok. Bye, Dean."

He hung up before the machine could cut him off, held the phone cradled in his hand until the backlight dimmed and the room fell into darkness. Here near the window he could feel the cold seeping in around the edges. It was only California cold and he'd had much worse, but he suddenly didn't feel like staying up anymore.

He left his phone on the desk, snuck quietly back into the bedroom and into their bed. In her sleep Jess nestled against his chest, and it should've been enough to clear his mind.

It wasn't.

* * *

Dean set down the gun he was cleaning and fumbled for his phone, snatching it up on the fourth ring.

"Hello?"

"Happy birthday, kiddo."

He grinned, tried to pretend his heart hadn't jolted stupidly when the phone rang. He shifted, leaning back against the headboard. "Thanks, Bobby."

There was a moment of hesitant silence on the other end, then,"You mean he hasn't called?"

Dean cleared his throat, shook his head even though there was no one there to see it. "Nah, but why would he? He doesn't even have this number anyway. We had to change phones awhile back, remember? It doesn't matter."

"Course it _matters_. You know I hate watching you two carry on like this, but even _mad,_ I guarantee you Sam'd call you on your birthday. Let me call and give him-"

"No, Bobby. _Don't_." If Sam couldn't call him any other goddamn day of the year, he didn't deserve to get to call him on this one. Petty, maybe, but he was still hurt over being left, and he wasn't sure when that'd wear off. Maybe never. "I'm serious, ok? He wants to call, he can do some work and track down the number."

Besides, maybe if he had to do a little research, he'd be more inclined to make the effort. Though clearly, he hadn't. He'd sworn to himself he wouldn't expect a call but all the same he had. He really should be learning, though. This just cemented it, something else to add to the growing pile of proof that Sam didn't really care about him at all.

"Don't worry about it, Bobby. He's so busy bein' a bookworm, bet he doesn't even know what day it is."

* * *

Oh boys. X.X

And about Sam still being able to get Dean's voicemail…I'm not sure if that would definitely work. I know that a friend of mine who had a prepaid phone and stopped it, you could still call the line and get her voicemail months after she stopped it, but I don't know if that's always the case. So, that may or may not be typically possible, but I know it's at least sometimes possible, and it worked for this so I went with it, lol


	9. 26 Truckle

Because I know _I_ had no idea what this word meant, really:

truckle: to be servile or submissive

26. Truckle

* * *

Dean gritted his teeth at the jerk of leather against his throat, harsh and unyielding. Every muscle in his arms pulled rigid against the cuffs behind him, even if he already knew it wouldn't do any good. A thousand memories were swimming for precedence behind his eyes, all of them bright and bloody and harsh, burning him from the inside.

He'd left this behind in hell, goddammit, and he wasn't about to do it again. Not here, not where he had a choice. Here, they could only kill him once. The leather jerked again, chain hauling him back against the demon's thigh.

"Dean, Dean, Dean…you're not playing." His voice was dangerous and dark and still as black water, and Dean shut his eyes against it, voice trembling only a little as he licked the blood away from his lips. He'd like to think it was anger, and nothing else.

"Get your fuckin' hands off me."

They smoothed instead across his shoulders, digging firm into muscles that quivered under his skin like a worked out stallion. He was almost shaking. No matter what he did or didn't do, what he told himself…Alistair had trained this into him far too well for anything to change it. Cas hadn't made his body over as new as he might think.

There was hot breath against his ear, low and deliberate. "You forget, Dean, I was there, remember? I was there, and Alistair handed you over to me _many_ times. Now, Dean, I can keep you safe from Michael." He stroked across his flanks, petting, and Dean's stomach flopped and tried to heave though he held himself in check. "I can keep you as mine. No one would question, and you'll never have to make any choices. Not a one."

Yeah, never any choices, because he'd be nothing more than furniture. The pet on the leash, the warm body, the thing tied to the rack that came and fell to its knees at the jerk of a chain. In hell, he hadn't had a choice. He swallowed, felt the burn in his bruised throat.

"See a deal only works if you're offering me something better. I didn't want to play this game the first time around and honestly, I'd rather die." He choked a little as the demon he knew only as Tyler jerked on the chain again, pressure hard against his windpipe.

"See, that's assuming you have a choice. In case you haven't noticed, I've got you here. You want to know how _easy_ it was to rip that silly little gun out of your hand and knock you out? To drag you here, all alone? I've got you now, Dean, and even though I really _could_ use that reward, I'm pretty sure this way you'll be more than worth my while."

Except that he wouldn't be. He'd be as uncooperative as possible even if it hurt like hell, because here, he could only die once. Here, it'd be over. His breath rasped through his throat, and he twitched as he felt teeth close down against the top of his spine.

"So beautiful. So-"

Tyler cut off with a gurgle, and Dean could barely even register the feel of the body slumping against his back before it was shoved away. There was the knife dropping to the floor, scattering the tile red, and then there was just Sam kneeling in front of him, working at the buckle and yanking the collar from his neck. His hands were covered in blood but he wasn't even glancing at it, wasn't even tempted, and his eyes when they locked with Dean's had enough emotion in them to make him want to either hide from them or crawl inside them. Sam's thumbs stroked over the bruise on his neck, forehead furrowing.

"Jesus, Dean…"

He was shaking still, and as grateful as he was he felt sick enough to wish that Sam had never come here. If he'd never come after him, he'd have never seen Dean like this. Now, he knew Sam wouldn't be able to forget it. Sam reached behind him, picking the lock on the cuffs, and Dean kept his arms deathly still. He took a few deep breaths, his eyes darting down to stare uselessly at the blood on the tile. What could he even say? 'Thanks, Sammy' wouldn't be enough, and 'oh by the way, I was Alistair's slave' would be too much. Not to mention, Sam'd take that as license to beat himself up even more over hell in epic ways only Sam could manage.

He'd been studying the floor so hard he was shocked to feel Sam's hand clap briefly on his shoulder, and he startled, looking up to find Sam holding his hand out, ready to help him up.

"C'mon. Car's out front."

He blinked, held his hand out slowly and let Sam pull him to his feet. Sam shrugged his outer shirt off and draped it quick around his shoulders, speaking up and holding the keys out before Dean could protest.

"You wanna drive?"

* * *

*cuddles broken Dean*


End file.
